Mistake
by Bynamearose
Summary: Leyton one-shot. Lucas is married and Peyton wants to forget. Unfortunately, fate has other opinions in the matter of mistakes. Lucas/Peyton; Leyton, Peyton/OC


**Title: Mistake**

**Definition: (n) Something, esp. a word, a figure, or fact, that is not correct. **

**Author: Bynamearose**

**Rated: NC-17**

**Fandom: One Tree Hill**

**Pairing: Lucas/Peyton; Leyton, Peyton/OC **

**Summary: Leyton one-shot - Lucas is married and Peyton wants to forget. Unfortunately, fate has other opinions in the matter of mistakes.**

**Warning: Spoilers, Language, Sexually Explicit **

**Notes: Yeah…it felt kinda Peeping Tom-ish at first but I think I succeeded in my sort of…flavor to this story. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill. If I did, I would have the producer's head right now .**

-x-

"Every great mistake has a halfway moment, a split second when it can be recalled, or perhaps remedied."

- Pearl S. Buck

-x-

Peyton couldn't help but stare at the new Mrs. Lucas Scott.

She knows the woman is newly married not because of the white dress she was clothed in, or the crowds of congratulations; she knew because she just watched the man she loved marry her.

And down goes another drink…

It's not done dramatically but she knows it's noticed by those watching; they cared for her, but at this moment she'd couldn't care less what they thought - no matter their intention.

The smiles plastered on faces around her are enough to make her feel like the bitchy, sarcastic young girl that almost ran over her boyfriend's brother; she felt lonely and isolated, even if she could retain a wall of venom.

She feels a body beside her and as much as she wants to look over, her eyes stay glued to the couple dancing on the floor. They looked happy and she swears the sound of her heart breaking is about as clear in her ears as the music behind it.

"Havin' a good time?"

She rolls her eyes and lets out a breath, glancing back at the man behind her and letting the rest of the liquor pour down her throat. She then realizes she could make a good drunk.

"Peachy."

God…she'd said she'd be okay with this. She wouldn't ruin this for him; she'd be the selfless he seemed to lack when it came to her. Damn it.

"You sound like it," the stranger chuckles and it's a slurred, husky laugh.

Not like his, her brain registers, and she mentally curses herself for the thought.

She ignores him and realizes the dances have gotten slow again, cursing her karma and whatever luck she had as she, and a few other stragglers; including the waste of cells behind her, is left sitting while the many happy couples float across the dance floor.

Brooke had left, apparently called in an emergency, and, though she had asked Peyton if it was okay and gotten a reassuring nod, the latter was left alone, sitting there. She didn't trust herself to be noble now…And it wasn't okay.

"You wanna dance," is the sound that breaks through the sick, nauseating feeling that lurches in her stomach as she watches the particular couple she's had her eye one the entire day.

She is about to answer in rejection but her eyes catch on the bride clinging to the groom, him whispering something sweet and meaningful in her ear, and the woman in his arms, in turn, giggling with a small blush. In her mind, she knew, it could have been her.

"C'mon," she says, grabbing him and yanking him in the opposite direction: across and through the rows of chairs.

She's angry at him.

She's angry at her.

She's angry at _herself_.

Abruptly, as she reaches the exit, she spins around, claiming the stranger's lips with her own, letting every cry she'd held back, every protest that had edged on her lips that day into it. He is surprised, she knows, but he immediately responds with sloppy passion; she can taste the drink on him - and it's apparent in his kisses.

She hasn't seen this man before and, in the back of her mind, she knows it's likely one of Lindsey's guests but, at this moment, she doesn't care.

As she breaks the kiss, she continues on until they are out of sight, prepared to wash away the pain - just for one night.

She wants to forget she was ever here, ever heard the names Lindsey or Lucas Scott, and, with her semi-drunken stupor, she knew she must - or drown in the pain.

-x-

Lucas Scott was _married_.

So many times he'd thought about this moment; finding the right girl and settling down.

It wasn't an average thought for a twenty-two year old man; most men at this age were doing everything to avoid this life changing event.

But, as he held on to his wife, the two swaying to a soft tune, he realizes that there could not be a safer place to be.

Lindsey Strauss, now, Scott would be there for him in his triumphs and failures. She would not abandon him. She wouldn't reject him, or lose faith in the talents he hoped to have. She would be his place to fall.

"I love you," he hears and he responds in turn, tucking a straight hair that had fallen out of place. He feels her grip tighten and tucks his chin into the crook of he neck, laying there a small kiss.

He watches as the dances change, how the happy faces around the two laugh and cry, congratulating them and wishing them luck that he hoped they would never need. And he knows the woman next to him is never going to stop believing in him.

His eyes scan around as a slow dance takes the floor and it seems as though the world stops as his eyes reach the finished product of skinny arms and a tangled mess of hair.

His eyebrows push together in confusion as he sees her drag the man beside her down an isle of chairs.

What was she doing?

He feels Lindsey turn her head towards his and he arches his as well, looking at her curiously. She smiles up at him and he quickly returns it. He wants to look back at the previous scene but denies himself until Lindsey's head returns to his shoulder: she, clearly, at peace.

Preparing himself for a drunken worst, he felt his heart drop into his stomach as he raised his head, his eyes wide and broken as he stared ahead. His body freezes in place, his heart clenches, and he feels his breathing stop entirely.

Whether it was the idea of Peyton Sawyer moving on or the image of her lips to anyone's but his own, Lucas felt time shatter in an instant.

Their lips were connected for what could have been hours, his hands roamed down her back, going lower and lower. Lucas could feel his tongue drop down his throat as he watched her fists paw at his tux; she had initiated this. She wanted this. _She wanted him._

He can feel Lindsey start to settle into his chest and, though he would hate to disturb her, every nerve in his body wants to pull Peyton away from the man, to tell her the mistake she's making.

The two stop the connection of lips and Lucas watches Peyton pull away, her chest rising and falling. He can already see her hair falling out of place. The man has a wide grin, perfectly happy being her toy for the night, and Lucas suddenly feels sick.

The nausea is overwhelming and, as he watches the two walk out, he sees a pair of green eyes looking back. They mirror the pain she felt; the rejection, the jealousy, and the hurt clearly reflected back at him.

His body tenses as her eyes leave him. Her steps hurry and he knows the two will go home together; the images blare in his mind and twist his stomach.

He feels Lindsey look at him, obviously concerned by the intense paralysis he was showing; his eyes still linger on the spot Peyton had been, her eyes now burnt into his memory. She follows his gaze and he knows, at that moment, she sees it too.

Was it Peyton's mistake for running to the arms of a stranger?

Perhaps.

But this…this was his mistake too.

This was all a mistake.

-x-

"_You're place or mine?"_

Most of the time Peyton Sawyer found this question annoying. Yes, since Lucas, she had only one serious relationship, one that convinced her that the dating scene was just _not_ for her - but the lovely gentlemen that had that question on mind; well, they were just the tip of the iceberg of reasons not to date.

But that really didn't matter now, did it?

There was a stumble as she and the man walked in the apartment, lips still impatiently attached as she heard the door get kicked shut. For a moment, under his lips, she wonders whether to tell him that he left his key still dangling from the door.

However, that thought is quickly replaced as she starts with the buttons of his shirt, almost ready to rip the damn thing off of him; after all, his jacket was still in the hallway - it wouldn't matter what she did with his clothes, as long as she kept going.

He starts nibbling at her neck as she works the shirt off him; it's awkward, his fumbling of kisses, and the thought that his lips on her neck are not as amazingly overwhelming as Lucas' fuels her as she angrily struggles with his belt buckle, cursing the newlywed inwardly.

She feels his callous hands roam her body and the zipper on her dress is quickly slid down. It's now or never. She continues the advance on his pants, frustratedly, ridding him of them as soon as he slips off his shoes.

Their clothing is torn off frantically, piece by piece, and, before long, her back hits the door of his bedroom with a bang, her legs wrapped around his waist. He groans.

They fall to the bed: he, running sloppy kisses down her neck and, then, onto her breasts. It seems forever - until she grinds against his arousal, frustrated; she doesn't need his foreplay. She doesn't want it. She doesn't want him.

After a low groan, the man next to her quickly pins her down, a hand to her stomach as he penetrates her. He offers another groan as, quickly, Peyton rocks her hips in both need and rush.

He seems to get the point; his pace is set as his slow movements become fast, intoxicated thrusts. A hand slides down her back and she blocks out the thought of how different this was from her and Lucas; it was hasty, impatient and lacked the skill and passion their movements had.

This was lustful and meaningless: drunken vengeance to her own feelings.

The farther away she was from him and his touches, the more her thoughts drifted towards them - she hated it. She hated _him_…At least, she wanted to.

She felt sweat from his brow drip on her naked skin. His thrusts speed up and she knows he's going for his release, however far away from hers. Suddenly, a hand drops between them and a rough touch spins her into her own world - pretending that nothing today had ever happened and, for a moment, she could forget. His thrusts still frantically moving, then, he tenses and - with a startling shout, he's over the edge. She's just thankful this was a protected one night stand.

They stay for a moment - not out of pleasure or sentiment, but tiredness - and he lazily slips out, falling next to her. She doesn't care, instead glaring up at the ceiling. She felt awkwardly numb. In a matter of seconds, she hears snores. He'd fallen asleep, a typical guy reaction. Still, she doesn't care; she stays frozen, her eyes still boring holes above her.

She swallows, holding back sobs that she knew had been coming all night. Her eyes search for her dress as she slips her underwear on. She finds a strapless bra, does the same, and again her green eyes are drawing lines against the floor as she looks around for her dress. She steps outside the bedroom, expressionless, as she finally finds the attire.

She feels a tear slide its way down her cheek. Her dress is on - her fuck is over - and it's back to the heartache and pain. Her heels dangle from her finger, as not to wake her 'date' by the snap of her shoes against hardwood floor. She wipes her eyes, staring into mirror on the wall, before the green orbs meet a picture on the table below it.

The picture is one of her previous encounter and a bronze skinned blonde, their lips connected and their hands held high, showing off gold rings - both rings on the same finger of each hand.

"_God, why are guys such jerks?!" _

She shakes her head, walking out the door, feeling worse than she did when she came in.

This was a mistake…

She shouldn't have come...

This was all a mistake.

-x-

"Hey, buddy, what happened at the wedding?"

Peyton doesn't feel like smiling, or showing any source or confidence or grace but she does. She smiles weakly, walking forward, and, as she gets to the kitchen counter, responds to the brunette sitting on the couch.

"It was okay."

_Liar._

"How about you…Are you okay?"

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say she would get through it: for Lucas, for her - for the fact that he was married now and there was nothing she could do about it.

"I'm going to bed, Brooke. I'm gonna…I'll see you in the morning."

Brooke watches her friend walk away, the door shutting gently as a muffled sob escapes the blonde's room. The fashion designer watches the door sadly, hating the pain her friend was going through. She knows Lucas could make wrong choices, choose wrong paths, but now she can only shake her head in disbelief.

The woman who loved the groom wanted to forget his wedding; instead, the groom had, for the moment, forgotten it as well. In that moment, the groom should have recalled the I do's he'd recited; instead, the woman who loved him couldn't stop.

-x-

**A/N: No offence meant to…well, anyone really. **

**Review - if you like it. Who knows; if people like it enough, I might make a sequel**


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